


A Land of Myth

by kaistrex (weishen), the_problem_with_stardust



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, BAMF Stiles, Derek Needs To Use His Words, Flashbacks, Gerard Argent Doesn't Exist, Kate Argent doesn't exist, Knight Derek Hale, Knight Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Misunderstandings, Mythical Beings & Creatures, One Night Stands, POV Alternating, POV Derek, POV Stiles, Stiles Too, Werewolf Courting, Werewolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 09:49:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15192173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weishen/pseuds/kaistrex, https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_problem_with_stardust/pseuds/the_problem_with_stardust
Summary: The final Were is hanging back in shadow, but it’s not so dark that Stiles can’t make out who it is. It’s Laura’s brother, Derek, looking as stony-faced as when Stiles had first met him during the wedding celebrations last year. He’d thought him a total bore until one thing led to another and he found himself in Derek’s bed. That Derek considered it a one time thing had been made abundantly clear when Stiles woke the next morning alone.-While tracking a manticore across the border of their Kingdom, Stiles and other Knights of his order run into a group of Knights from Kanima also hunting the beast. Among their number is Derek Hale, a werewolf Stiles spent a memorable one night stand with a year ago. What should have been a peaceful hunt turns into a not-so-friendly rivalry, the reliving of a bitter memory, and Derek refusing to even acknowledge him. It will be a miracle if they can all cooperate long enough to actually do some monster slaying.





	A Land of Myth

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the 2018 Sterek Reversebang, inspired by this beautiful art by [theproblemwithstardust](https://theproblemwithstardust.tumblr.com).
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> Posted on tumblr [here](https://theproblemwithstardust.tumblr.com/post/175619802197/my-first-contribution-to-the-sterekreversebang)  
> 
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> Strong power thank you as always to my beta [smart-bit](http://smart-bit.tumblr.com). 

The sun beams down from above the trees and a light wind rustles the leaves. It’s the perfect time of year for some monster slaying.

A winged manticore has been on a rampage on the western border of the kingdom for the better part of the last two weeks, attacking a new village each day and racking up casualties. It’s been four months since they’ve been tasked with hunting a beast, and this is the first time he’s been part of a hunt for one so large. Braeden, their Knight-Commander, has been forced to remind him on more than one occasion not to look so excited at the prospect, especially when they passed through the village of Ethen, already ravaged by the manticore and the people forced to live barricaded inside their homes in fear of the beast’s return.

It’s not difficult to track. It may have wings but they’re useless for prolonged flight, best for gliding down silently on top of their prey from a height. Luckily, they’ve got Scott with them, and his sensitive werewolf ears will be enough of a warning before it drops down on their heads.

That’s not really an outcome they need to worry about but they still keep Princess Allison at the centre of their formation regardless, a decision she has the sense not to argue. She shouldn’t even be here, but she’d snuck out of the castle to tail them and hadn’t made her presence known until they were two day’s ride into their journey. It was too late to escort her back, she’d argued, and with increasing accounts of fatalities, they need to put a stop to the manticore as soon as possible. They also know they could send her home tied up in a sack and they’d probably still find her standing with one foot on top of the head of her manticore kill by the time they manage to track it down.

Her father isn't going to be happy when they return, but though Braeden may be in for an earful, Stiles knows it will just be more of a formality at this point, their King long past being surprised by his daughter’s recklessness.

At least Allison's proficiency is with a bow so they can keep her as far from danger as possible at all times.

They still have a day left of their journey to go, the likeliest location of the manticore’s den being the rocky outcrops of the Pebbleknife far off in the distance. Stiles can’t decide where he’d rather face it more, out in the open where it has full mobility and the use of its wings or at close quarters in a cave system it could easily trap them inside of.

Either way, they won’t be facing it today. The sun is starting to get low in the sky and it won’t be long before they’re looking for somewhere to make camp for the night. Stiles is just thinking about the mushrooms Scott sniffed out a few hours back and the ration of crusty bread he has left over from what the villagers of Ethen were generous to provide them with, when Scott freezes.

“Incoming,” he warns. Allison is nocking an arrow before the word has even left his lips.

Stiles hears nothing but he draws his sword all the same, releasing a burst of energy from his right hand. Flames lick up the blade from the hilt, the metal glowing a dull red. The rest of the party follow suit, swords all raised. Lydia and Kira’s crackle with ice and lightning respectively, and they all tighten their formation to shield Allison with their bodies.

“What is it?” asks Braeden, gaze intent on the trees ahead.

Scott’s eyes are partially glazed as he focuses on his hearing. “Not the manticore. People, more than one. Maybe… five- Six. Six of them. I think they’re-”

But he doesn’t need to finish. Darting through the trees ahead come six other people on foot slowing to a jog, all wearing the colours of Whittemore Knights from Kanima and the badge of the Order of the Silver Moon, founded by the King himself. Three men and three women, werewolves all.

Stiles has met four of their number before, last year at Prince Jackson’s wedding to Prince Ethan of Kalia to the south. Front and centre is Laura Hale, her long hair pulled back from her face and the band featuring the crest of the Whittemore Knight-Commander around her upper left arm. At her right is another woman, slighter in comparison but most definitely a sister, sharing the same complexion and long dark hair. Beside her stand Erica and Boyd, a fiercely competitive firecracker and her more reserved mate. To Laura’s left is another Were Stiles doesn’t know, with big blue eyes and curling mousy-coloured hair cut short.

The final Were is hanging back in shadow, but it’s not so dark that Stiles can’t make out who it is. It’s Laura’s brother, Derek, looking as stony-faced as when Stiles had first met him during the wedding celebrations last year. He’d thought him a total bore until one thing led to another and he found himself in Derek’s bed. That Derek considered it a one time thing had been made abundantly clear when Stiles woke the next morning alone.

Stiles’ memory of the other Knight’s handsome good looks has been unable to do him justice in the year since and it rankles to be reminded of them now, catching him off-guard. Phantom breath at his ear and the memory of hands skimming down to his hips snatches his breath and he has to look away.

He manages to snap back to the present as Braeden sheathes her sword and Stiles is last to release his magic, the flames retreating down the blade to the hilt and back into his hand.

“Knight-Commander,” Braeden greets with a respectful tilt of her head, and Laura returns the gesture.

“Knight-Commander,” Laura replies. “What brings you to our border?”

“A manticore has been terrorising the nearby villages for the past few weeks. We’re tracking the beast to its lair.”

“It’s on our side of the border now, so you can run along home,” Erica says, sweetly.

“Show our Knight-Commander some respect or you’ll be losing a few fingers to frostbite,” Lydia replies just as sweetly, holding up her hand to show off a few blue-tinted snowflakes coiling up from her palm.

Erica lifts a hand and curls her fingers in an impression of a cat using its claws. She may be acting unimpressed but Lydia’s threats are never to be taken lightly.

Braeden doesn’t even show the courtesy of acknowledging her. “The beast ravaged the village of Ethen not two days past and those are our people. We will see it done ourselves.”

Laura nods. “We will aid you. We were already tracking the creature and it’s in both our interests to work together on this.”

This time, it isn’t only Erica who makes her displeasure known. Boyd snorts and the Hale sister’s eyebrows shoot up into her hair as she spins to face Laura, scandalised. Both of Lydia’s hands glow blue and Kira is frowning. The curly-haired knight is glancing between both groups like he’s unsure if he’s supposed to act as outraged or show his Captain some support.

Derek’s crossed arms have dropped to his sides in shock and his gaze flickers to Stiles before levelling narrowed eyes at his sister.

After the cries of protest, Boyd is the first to speak. “Only if they promise not to get in our way.”

“You really think we need your help on this?” Allison retorts, a single deadly eyebrow raised.

“You think _you_ can take this thing down with some pointy twigs?” the Hale sister snorts.

“ _Cora_ ,” Laura warns.

Stiles leans forward in his saddle. “A night’s worth of drinks say we slay the beast before you do.”

“Oh, you’re on!” Erica’s eyes are alight, just like they had been at the wedding when the drinking games started to see who could drink who under the table. Stiles never did find out the outcome of that, he realises, glancing at Derek still glaring at Laura. He’s like a magnet to Stiles’ gaze, but no matter how much Stiles’ eyes bore into the side of his head, he seems to be trying to look anywhere but back at him.

“It’s settled then.”

Derek shakes his head and mutters what looks like a curse. Laura’s head snaps towards him, imperious eyebrows raised.

“I said it’s settled,” she repeats, and though Derek’s mouth twists, he doesn’t say anything more. She turns back to the group. “It will be getting dark soon. There’s a place not too far from here where we can make camp. It’s got a stream for some fresh water.”

“Lead the way,” Braeden says, gratefully. “Allison, stay in the centre.”

They release the tight formation they’d been keeping since the Whittemore Knights arrived, the new additions to the party spreading out amongst their number to offer Allison more protection. Derek takes the lead, marching stiffly way ahead of the party.

He doesn’t know what Derek’s problem is. If anyone should have a problem here, it’s Stiles.

 

*

 

_Derek drops down onto a bench in the palace gardens that always escapes everyone’s notice amongst the shadow of the hedges surrounding it._

_He’s been doing his best to avoid the wedding preparations, the palace a hive of activity where he can’t take a single step without somebody being in his way. Guests are arriving left and right to be shown to their accommodations in the palace and Jackson is being even more petulant than usual, trying to be in control of everything already smoothly in motion and totally derailing the entire system._

_This little secluded corner is the perfect place for a breather, but it won’t last. Before long, his sisters will have sniffed him out and roped him into escorting another Lord and Lady Never-Heard-Of to the rooms already prepared for them._

_He tilts his head back and savours the fresh air, enjoying the faint note of citrus that’s probably reaching him from the kitchens where they’re already making desserts for the big day. He breathes deep lungfuls and his bad mood starts to dissipate, the tension in his brow easing after he’d been worried it would get stuck like that forever._

_Between the hedges further down, he glimpses two Argent Knights coming towards him and prays he’ll avoid conversation. One is a Wolf and can probably sense him here, but the other is human, and the way he flails his arms as he talks and almost trips on nothing speaks of little prowess in battle. He doesn’t recognise either of them from other encounters between their Kingdoms, and by their age, they’re probably recently Knighted._

_The human shoves at the shoulder of his friend, laughing, and ordinarily Derek would frown at the conduct, not befitting of Knights representing their Kingdom in a foreign land. But there’s something about that scent that makes disapproval hard to muster and the Knight’s carefree laughter is putting him even more at ease._

_They reach Derek’s hiding place, the Wolf glancing into Derek’s alcove and offering a nod, but Derek doesn’t return it. He’s too busy staring instead at the second Knight wandering obliviously by: the source of the inviting smell._

 

*

 

Stiles isn’t sure this teamwork thing is going to work out. The only ones among them who seem able to manage any civility are Braeden, Laura and Isaac, the curly-haired newcomer who seems to be the most agreeable of the bunch, if wet behind the ears. Allison, Lydia, Erica and Cora are all hot-blooded and hard-headed and honestly a little bit scary. If the four of them come to blows, Stiles doesn’t intend to stick his neck out to calm them down. Boyd is as stoic as Stiles remembers him and Derek’s silence and rigid shoulders in the distance are just putting Stiles’ back up. When Laura mentions Jackson, he leaps at the chance to channel some of his irritation.

“And where is His _Excellency?_ ” he asks, unable to keep the disdain from his voice.

“Out of danger, where he belongs,” Laura answers with a pointed look over her shoulder at Allison. Stiles raises his eyebrow back. He’d love to see her try to keep their Princess in check.

“Jackson always has preferred holding a mirror to a sword,” Allison quips, adjusting the quiver over her shoulder. Stiles grins with pride.

Cora growls low in her throat out of principle but no one actually tries arguing the point. The Whittemore Prince’s aversion to fighting is common knowledge. It had once been hoped Allison and Jackson would unite their families through marriage but Allison was a force to be reckoned with even at twelve years old when she’d already been vocally opposed to it. Jackson had supposedly not been as reluctant, though a formal refusal came from Allison after her eighteenth birthday, luckily before Jackson could start the courting process customary for werewolves. That didn’t stop rumours immediately cropping up that a kill of a stag had already been made in preparation to present to her - apparently not even hunted by Jackson, much to the Prince’s humiliation. Stiles doesn’t think there’s any truth to it, but their Kingdoms have had a bit of a rocky relationship since.

Ahead of them, Derek freezes and holds his hand in the air beside his head. The Whittemore Knights and Scott stop in their tracks but the rest of them take a few extra paces before their duller reflexes kick in. Next to Stiles, Scott’s nostrils are flaring.

“Old blood,” he says, pinpointing the smell just as Boyd bellows, “Red Caps!” and a swarm of goblins bursts from the ground at their feet.

They’re grubby little creatures, with spindly limbs and yellowish eyes, and the sight of the red caps they’re known for makes Stiles’ skin crawl. The colour is a result of soaking them in the blood of their victims, and in these numbers, if they were a group of unsuspecting travellers, it would be their blood these goblins would be dipping them in. But they picked the wrong targets.

Roscoe whinnies and half rears up, crushing one of the Red Caps beneath his hooves when he drops back down and Stiles swings from the saddle, the goblins too small to fight from horseback. He slaps Roscoe on the rump, sending him out of the fray.

The Whittemore Knights are already lashing out with their claws, while Kira has to whip up her shield to deflect a goblin leaping at her face and launches it backwards onto Lydia’s waiting blade. Stiles sends flames down his own sword and swings it like he would a mallet in a game of croquet, cleaving three Red Caps in two.

He looks up just as a goblin leaps and sinks its teeth into the flesh above Derek’s elbow and watches as the Wolf rips it free. He tosses it at Stiles who’s ready to cleave its head from its body, but before the two pieces have even hit the floor, three more goblins take its place.

They fall into a rhythm, massacring the goblins who seem to be too stupid to have self-preservation instincts, and the swarm’s numbers eventually begin to dwindle. A Red Cap manages to land on Isaac’s back, head rearing up and little fangs ready to bite into his neck, and Stiles’ hand flies up to send a burst of energy its way. An arrow spears the creature through the neck before he gets the chance and pins it to the tree trunk behind. Derek crushes one beneath his boot, Braeden slices one in two head to toe and then all is quiet.

They’re all breathing heavily, heads snapping left and right as they scan the area carpeted with goblin corpses for signs of any more movement. Isaac has a hand over his neck, like he can feel how close he came to losing his throat, and Allison picks her way around the area looking for arrows she can salvage. Scott makes his way to Kira, checking his mate over for injuries as she tries to slap his hands away.

“Everyone in one piece?” Laura asks, kicking a goblin out from under her feet.

Stiles watches Derek wipe the blood from the back of his arm, the teeth marks already fading. No one else has more than a few scratches. As Stiles points his sword at the ground and sends a pulse of energy through it to clean it of gore, he marvels at the team they made during the fight, all moving as a cohesive unit. No one seems to want to say it out loud, but they at least all seem to be regarding each other with a newfound, if grudging, respect.

“Piece of cake,” Erica declares, wiping off her hand on a mossy tree stump.

Stiles whistles and the horses who had been waiting a safe distance away come trotting back. He pats Roscoe’s cheek, murmuring praise, and glances up just as Derek’s gaze flickers away.

 

*

 

_“What’s up with you?” Laura asks, kicking Derek’s shin under the table. The dining hall is even more packed than usual with so many extra people staying in the palace for the wedding tomorrow and if he wasn’t a werewolf he probably wouldn’t have been able to hear her over the din._

_“Nothing,” Derek grunts, scooping up some of the stew he’d been absently swirling his spoon through and shovelling it into his mouth._

_The scent of citrus is thick in his nose, the culprit sitting at the table behind him - Stiles, Princess Allison had called him. It’s the rowdiest table in the hall and Derek can hear his laugh again, looser with the mead he’s been imbibing. It’s hard for Derek to stop his eyelids from drooping, dozing off beneath that blanket of contentment._

_“There’ll be no drink left for the wedding at the rate they’re going,” Boyd comments, eyes on the Argent guests sat behind them, and Derek leaps at the chance to glance over his shoulder._

_Amber eyes glint in the torchlight as they turn to meet Derek’s, sparkling above the quirk of a grin. Derek spins back around, swallowing hard._

_He grimaces as Laura raises a calculating eyebrow._

 

*

 

When they’re ready to depart, Stiles lifts his hand and targets all the bodies with controlled fires, leaving them nothing but ash. They could have left them for the crows, but the stink of this many in a day or two would be unbearable. With that done, they carry on their way, all looking forward to taking a dip in the stream Laura mentioned and washing off these new layers of grime. It takes them thirty more minutes to reach it and by that time, the sun is just beginning to set.

There’s an old pit for a fire filled with dry leaves and Isaac starts to clear it out while Scott helps Cora collect firewood. Stiles, Kira and Lydia lead the horses to the stream to let them drink and then tie them up nearby.

Isaac is working with flint and tinder to get a fire going and Stiles takes great joy in snapping his fingers, making it flare to life with a _whoosh_ and probably singeing Isaac’s eyebrows in the process. He leaps back, wolfing out in shock, and Stiles doubles over with laughter. Erica, who had been sat on one of the logs arranged around the fire, laughs so hard she almost falls off and even stone-faced Derek is trying to hide a smile. It falls away like slime when he notices Stiles looking.

While Scott starts boiling water from the stream for stew, they slip away in groups to wash off - Derek making sure to go after Stiles has come back, no surprise. By the time the food is ready, it’s fully dark, the cosy glow of the fire at odds with the eerie shadows it flickers around the camp. With so many Wolves around to sense any approaching danger, Stiles is totally at ease, inhaling his food without a care in the world.

Conversation is stilted, neither group too keen on conversing with the other and unable to keep their words private. Outright disdain is at least no longer present after their battle, but it seems they’ve got a long way to go before they consider each other friends.

Laura volunteers to take first watch and they all bundle up in their cloaks and try to manoeuvre themselves so they’re each not too far from the fire. Derek just happens to lie down as far away from Stiles as he can get.

 

*

 

_Filing into the chapel for Prince Jackson’s wedding ceremony, Stiles’ scent spirals around him and Derek glances to his right to see him standing at his side, escorting Princess Allison with the werewolf Knight. He trails his gaze along the string of moles dotting his cheek as Stiles turns his head towards him, so entranced he can only stare at Stiles’ mouth moving, unable to register the words._

_He’s never met someone like this before, someone so compatible. He starts to sway closer without really realising what he’s doing and surprise crosses Stiles’ face. But he looks pleased, is biting his bottom lip as his eyes go dark and hooded. His scent thickens and when Derek opens his mouth, he can taste it on his tongue. It dazes him and he blinks slowly as Stiles places a hand on his chest and gently nudges him back._

_“How about we save that for tonight, huh, big guy?” Stiles murmurs._

_Derek snaps back to himself and straightens, remembering where they are and just how many people could be watching. It’s broad daylight!_

_He turns away, ears burning, and tries to ignore Stiles’ quiet huff of laughter. As they file into the cathedral, they’re forced to move apart to their designated seats, Stiles throwing him a final glance over his shoulder._

_For the entire ceremony, all Derek can think about is the promise in Stiles’ voice._

 

*

 

Despite his aching muscles after being sat in the saddle most of the day, Stiles can't sleep. He wriggles from one side to the other on the hard earth, a twig in his back in one position and a pebble digging in in another. Eventually, he heaves a sigh and sits up.

Laura is sat at the fire, eyes glazed as she stares into the flames, keeping watch with her ears instead.

“Can’t sleep,” he offers in explanation when her eyes flicker towards him, eyebrow raised in question.

He sits beside her, glancing at Derek asleep on the other side of the fire.

“If you’re not serious about him, you need to let him know.”

Stiles bristles despite feeling like he’s missed the first half of this conversation. “What are you talking about?”

“Derek.”

Stiles gaze snaps back to Derek facing away from them, unmoving.

“He’s asleep,” she assures him.

That doesn’t do a lot to put Stiles at ease. “I still don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s nothing I need to discuss with him.” Maybe there had been at the time, and Stiles had intended to hunt Derek down and demand an answer to why he’d woken alone, but as soon as he’d stepped out of Derek’s room, Scott had been upon him, borderline hysterical. Allison’s mother had fallen ill and word had only just reached them. They’d had to leave immediately or have the Princess ride off without them so there’d been no time to give Derek a piece of his mind.

“Maybe you feel that way, but the only reason we came to you earlier is because he recognised your scent on the wind. I don’t call that nothing.”

Stiles knows how important scents are for Werewolves, but he doesn’t know how to feel about his being significant enough to Derek that he can pinpoint it like that after almost a year apart.

“I didn’t realise I’d made such an impression.”

Laura tilts her head to pin him with a dark look. “Now you’re just being obtuse.”

Stiles splutters. “ _Obtuse?_ ”

“Keep it down!” she hisses and Stiles crosses his arms, shoulders hunched.

“It sounds like you’ve misunderstood. We met once last year and that’s it.”

“That’s it? He had sex with you,” she says, enunciating every syllable like she’s talking to a simpleton.

He shrugs and waits for her to elaborate but she just throws up her hands, eyes wide like she can’t believe his stupidity, which is hardly fair considering she hasn’t been making a lick of sense in this entire conversation.

“I’m not doing this with you. Derek can be the one to deal with it. It’s his problem after all.” She starts gathering up her cloak and makes to stand. “Now, if you’re staying up, you can take over watch. Erica’s next.”

Stiles wrinkles his nose but doesn’t argue. They both know he won’t sleep anyway, and it seems they both know why, no matter how much he’d love to deny it. On the other hand, he doesn’t relish the idea of having to be the one to wake Erica. He’ll be lucky to have his head come the morning.

Thankfully, Erica wakes up on her own when the time comes and relieves him of keeping his uneventful watch with nothing more than a grunt, so chances are she isn’t going to murder him in his sleep.

He’s more tired when he settles down this time, and though his mind aches with the way it’s been whirring, he manages to drop off without trouble and doesn’t wake until morning.

 

*

 

_The feast is in full swing, Jackson smiling the widest smile Derek has ever seen on his face where he and Ethan are wrapped around each other on the dancefloor. In contrast, Stiles hasn’t looked at Derek once and he doesn’t know what could have brought on this sudden cold shoulder._

_Perhaps he’s had time since to think about what he’d said and change his mind. Perhaps he’d just been joking and Derek had misread the situation entirely. Perhaps he thought Derek the joke._

_“So what was that earlier?”_

_“What was what?” Derek asks, avoiding Laura’s gaze._

_“Don’t play that game with me. I saw what happened.”_

_Derek tries to suppress a wince. “It was nothing.”_

_“And the way he’s looking at you right now, is that nothing too?”_

_Derek’s head whips round, but Stiles is nowhere to be seen. He turns a glare on his sister, resenting her trick._

_“‘Nothing’, he says,” Laura scoffs, rolling her eyes._

_Derek’s eyes narrow even further and he stalks away, avoiding a woman who tries to intercept him on the dancefloor and slipping out of the hall. He thinks his feet are carrying him outside for some fresh air, but then he realises the scent of citrus is getting stronger and he doesn’t fight when someone grabs him by the arm and pulls him into the shadow of a sculpture._

_“Took you long enough,” Stiles murmurs in his ear._

 

*

 

They all wake in the morning damp with dew and eager for the sun to begin climbing above the trees. With the manticore probably off to terrorise another hapless village today, they’re quick to break camp, breakfast eaten on the move.

By mid-morning the trees thin, and the rocky outcrop of the Pebbleknife marking an underground cave system is finally more than a blurred shape in the distance that had seemed to never be getting any closer. They reach its base by mid-afternoon and they dismount their horses as the Wolves let their noses lead them a short climb upwards to where they find a deep fissure in the rock that opens on a steep drop to the caves below. They say the stench of the manticore is wafting up towards them, of fur and blood and rotting flesh from its kills, and its lair must be nearby.

They’re just discussing how they might force it out of the tunnels if it’s inside, when the horses start shifting their hooves and whinnying, panic mounting. The Wolves whip their heads up as one and Stiles follows, waiting with bated breath as the great, shaggy head of a lion appears over the edge of a shelf of rock high above them.

Scott’s horse bolts, tearing the reins from his hands and followed by the others, and Derek has to dive aside to avoid getting trampled, putting him straight in the path of the manticore leaping down at them.

“Derek!” Cora shouts, reaching out.

Lydia throws up her hand and sends out a blast of energy, knocking Derek back and out of harm’s way. But he crashes straight into Stiles just as the manticore lands where he’d been standing, and Stiles’ arms windmill as he loses his balance. He staggers back one step, and then another, but his foot hits empty air and he grabs Derek’s arm to steady himself. It’s no good. Derek hasn’t caught his balance either, and Stiles’ extra weight just adds to his momentum.

Stiles gets a glance at the manticore’s spread wings, wild mane and whip-like tail before gravity wins and they both topple over the ledge.

 

*

 

_Derek’s stomach swoops as he and Stiles stagger across his room and fall in a sprawl on his bed, sealed at the lips. Desperation is clawing beneath his skin, needing more than just having Stiles naked under him, more than working him open with three of his fingers and nipping at the arch of his throat where he has his head thrown back, more than the gasps and stifled moans escaping Stiles’ lips._

_Stiles nudges him back when he's ready and twists over onto his knees, reaching back with one hand to grab desperately at Derek’s hip and draw him close. Derek doesn't tease. He presses inside and the air goes even thinner, temperature skyrocketing._

_He leans over Stiles’ back, fangs sharp, and Stiles gasps when they touch his delicate skin at the base of his neck where it meets his shoulder, heartbeat spiking. Derek would shy away, but Stiles’ scent doesn’t curdle like he’s expecting. Instead, it's like a dam bursting, flooding all around him and mingling with scents of comfort and home. Derek presses them against him harder, careful even under his haze of lust not to go to far. Stiles’ back arches and Derek rocks his hips, and they fall into an effortless rhythm._

_He loses all sense of time, entranced by the sounds tumbling from Stiles’ mouth and the beat of his pulse at his lips, lasting long into the night._

 

*

 

Stiles gets a lasting glimpse of the sky stretching vast and blue above his head before he plummets downwards, Derek’s body following casting him in shadow. He still has a grip on his arm and even now he doesn’t let go, clinging on for dear life as they hurtle towards the ground.

Derek pulls him close, wrapping him in his arms as they twist in the air, and the world spins around Stiles’ head, whooshing in his ears. By the time he gets his bearings, he realises Derek has manoeuvred them so he’s between Stiles and the ground, prepared to take the brunt of their fall and probably break his back in the process - if it doesn’t kill him that is.

Without even needing to think, Stiles throws out a hand beneath them and uses the same blast of energy Lydia had, sustaining it for as long as he can. It slows their descent enough that they hit the ground with little more than a thud.

He manages to lift his head and look around at the cavern they’ve found themselves in, one wide tunnel at one end and another smaller tunnel opposite it. They’re lying in a slash of sunlight pouring in from the fissure mouth above, Derek sprawled on his back and Stiles on top of him. But there’s no time to appreciate the position. The echo of shouts reaches them and he rolls off of Derek and looks up just as the manticore leaps down after them. They're easier prey than the larger party stuck aboveground.

He scrambles up and dives left just as Derek dives right, and it buys them a few moments as the manticore’s wings furl and it lands where they’d been laying seconds ago. It pauses to decide who to attack first.

With its prey divided, Stiles is the easier target. Even without being a vulnerable human to Derek’s Werewolf, all of the energy he just dispelled to break their fall has sapped his strength and the manticore seems to sense it.

The beast roars and behind its head rises its tail, armoured like that of a scorpion, rearing back ready to sting. High above that, Allison stands at the lip of the fissure, her bow raised. She realeases an arrow and Stiles has to shield his eyes from a flash of cold blue light. Now imbued with ice magic courtesy of Lydia, the arrow strikes at the base of the manticore’s tail, ice crackling as it forms and spreads upwards. A second arrow, fired before the first had even met its target, destroys the ice in a single hit and the manticore howls in agony as the base of its tail shatters and the whole thing drops uselessly to the ground.

It thrashes in a circle, enraged, but the damage can’t be undone and the beast flees, straight into the wide tunnel at the other end of the cavern.

Stiles finally has a moment to gasp for breath.

“Are you okay?” Braeden shouts from above.

“We’re fine! Thanks for the pointy twigs, Allison!” he yells up at them. He can’t tell, but he thinks maybe Cora scoffs.

“Thank Lydia’s quick thinking!” Allison calls back. “Can you see a way out?”

“There’s a tunnel this way,” Derek says, gesturing to the opening opposite the one the manticore took, too small for it to fit through.

“We’ll follow your progress from up here! If you run into any trouble, just shout!” Laura calls down. “Here, catch!”

Derek is ready to receive the pack she tosses down at them and Stiles is quick to dig through it for a water skin. He's barely taken a swig when Derek is already marching towards the tunnel.

“We’ll see you on the other side!” he shouts up at their friends. He looks at Stiles over his shoulder, nostrils flared like he's the source of a bad smell. It's probably just because they're so close to the stench of the manticore’s lair, but with the way Derek has been treating him so far, Stiles can't be sure. “Come on. We need to be gone in case that thing comes back.”

Stiles has to scramble to catch up, but his lacking energy has him bordering on light-headed and he needs to use the tunnel walls as support as he follows. As long as they don’t run into another fight on their way out of here, he’ll be fine.

Stiles is happy to let Derek lead the way. The werewolf seems to have a need to satisfy his protective instincts, working under the ill-informed assumption that Stiles is in need of protecting despite all the evidence to the contrary so far.

He doesn’t bother trying to stay quiet. Derek is forging confidently ahead and now his senses are alert, Stiles will have an advance warning if the manticore or any other creatures are lurking down here. For now at least, it won’t be able to reach them in these tunnels.

With daylight left behind them, he conjures a small ball of flame for light, his affinity for fire meaning it doesn't use up nearly so much of his energy. He floats the flame around Derek’s head to the front to light their way, mainly for his eyes instead of Derek’s, but Derek hisses in pain when it passes too close to his ear and glares at him over his shoulder.

Stiles holds up his palms in apology.

Derek huffs and turns back to the front, pace increasing in his irritation.

Stiles can only bear it for a couple of minutes. “Derek, you’re going to have to slow down.”

“Not if we intend to get out of here before nightfall.”

Stiles halts and rubs a hand over his face. His flame light stops with him and Derek growls when he nearly walks into it.

“I can’t keep this pace up after using so much energy to break our fall.”

“You didn’t need to bother.”

“No, I only saved you from what would most likely have been a broken back, no big deal.”

“I would have healed.”

“Yeah? And when the manticore jumped down to chomp on your paralysed body, what then?”

Derek doesn’t answer. He still hasn’t turned to even look at him and Stiles has had enough.

“What the hell is your problem?”

“I just want to get out of here as fast as possible,” Derek growls, turning to march onward down the tunnel, though he at least seems to be going slower.

“Not just that. I’m talking about the way you’ve been treating me.”

Derek stiffens so hard his shoulders shoot up almost to his ears, but though his footsteps falter for a second, he doesn’t stop walking.

Stiles shakes his head in disbelief. “So, you’re not going to be an adult about this?” he asks, pausing as Derek forces his way through a particularly narrow section of the tunnel ahead. His claws have popped out, raking gouges in the stone, but he doesn’t look back or make any other indication that he heard him. Stiles should probably take that as more of a warning that he’s treading on thin ice, but his self-preservation instincts have always been lacking.

“It was just sex, Derek,” Stiles says, squeezing through the tunnel after him. “You can pull that stick out of your ass already.”

Stiles realises that must have been the wrong thing to say when he makes it through the gap only to be slammed into the wall of the tunnel beside them by a very angry, golden-eyed werewolf.

 

*

 

_Derek lifts his head from his pillow and stares at Stiles sprawled on the bed, rumpled sheets only just offering him some modesty. Not that there’s any point to it after what happened last night. He smiles as he takes in the way sunlight manages to filter through the curtains and cast him in gold, already marvelling at how perfect he looks, here in Derek’s bed like he belongs._

_He’ll be hungry when he wakes up. Derek eases himself from the bed, careful not to wake him, the instinct to provide already stirring and he hasn’t even begun the courting process. He dresses as quietly as he can and then slips from the room and heads to the kitchens._

_Despite slaving away for the feast the night before, there are still many guests in the palace who need to be fed so the kitchens are abuzz with activity. He manages to pinch some fresh bread, marmalade, hard-boiled eggs and a pitcher of water. When Isla, the motherly head cook with a penchant for pinching his cheek spots him plating up enough for two, she scrounges up some leftover strawberries seemingly out of nowhere and sets them on his tray with a wink. Derek smiles, grateful if a little embarrassed._

_He feels like he’s walking on clouds as he makes his way back to his rooms, twisting the doorknob as gently as he can in case Stiles is still in slumber, and edging inside._

_But Stiles is gone._

 

*

 

“ _Shut up,_ ” Derek snarls, vibrating with rage.

“This is what I’m talking about!” Stiles yells back, pushing his head forward to get in Derek’s face despite the fact that he’s pinned to the wall. “You can’t keep trying to bury-” He cuts himself off when he realises Derek isn’t even looking at him.

The Wolf’s eyes have glazed over, just like they had at the wedding when he’d started to move closer like he intended to kiss Stiles right there on the chapel steps. His nostrils are flaring, taking greedy gulps of air through his nose, and Stiles knows that look from Scott, sees it on his face whenever Kira’s around. Derek is swaying forward like he can’t help himself and before Stiles can even make the conscious decision, his gaze flickers down to Derek’s lips. Their situation is still bordering on life-threatening but in this tight, enclosed space, he can almost pretend that no one else exists right now.

“I can’t do this here,” Derek breathes faintly, swaying back and using the momentum to turn away.

Stiles draws in a desperately needed breath and rolls his eyes. “That’s it, walk away again.”

The tone in Stiles’ voice seems to help bring Derek back to focus. “ _Again?_ ” he repeats, incredulously, spinning round to face him. “You’re the one who left without a word!”

Stiles’ back stiffens in indignation. “ _You’re_ the one who left me to wake up alone like a coward!”

“I was getting you breakfast!” Derek yells, and the shock that flashes across his face says he wishes he could snatch the words back down his throat.

Stiles’ mouth drops open. _Breakfast?_ Stiles doesn’t think he’d be able to believe it if it wasn’t for the pink beginning to dust Derek’s cheeks.

With the confession out in the open, Derek seems to realise there’s no going back and he deflates. “I was getting you breakfast. But when I got back, you were gone, and by the time I heard the news about Queen Victoria and made it to the gates, you were already riding away.”

Stiles shakes his head in amazement. “I thought it didn’t mean anything to you.”

“How could it have meant nothing?” Derek asks gently.

Stiles swallows hard, thinking back on that night and how he’d expected quick and dirty. It had started out that way, frantic to get each other out of their clothes, Derek’s hands seeming to be everywhere at once. But then Derek had made a space for himself inside him, caged him in with the heat and weight of his body draped over his back and pinned him with his fangs at his neck, taking his breath away with syrupy rolls of his hips for what had felt like hours.

“I thought it was because you were human. That I was stupid for already imagining a hunt when a casual fling would have been easy as breathing for you.”

“A _hunt_?” Stiles squeaks, heart skipping a beat.

Derek’s ears go pink and he ducks his head. Probably something else he hadn’t meant to say.

By a ‘hunt’, Derek can only mean for an offering. That he'd intended to court him. It wouldn't have been a proposal that Stiles would have had to accept straight away. It would just have been a symbol of his interest and he and Stiles would have taken the time to get to know each other. The fact that Derek had felt that strongly after barely knowing each other more than two days is almost too much for Stiles to comprehend.

How could they have messed this up this badly?

Stiles’ head spins, not helped by his sapped energy, and he slumps back against the wall. Derek steadies him by the shoulders, pressing close like he had in his anger a second ago, but now it’s a different kind of intimacy.

Derek lifts a hand to cup his cheek and this, at least, Stiles is ready for. He tilts his head, ready for Derek’s kiss, but then Derek’s head snaps up and he jerks back.

“The manticore’s coming,” Derek gasps, eyes wide and unfocused as he listens.

“Wha-” Stiles’ head whips back and forth up the tunnel but Derek takes hold of his wrist.

“Up above,” he explains. “We need to hurry!” He pulls Stiles down the tunnel, shifting his grip until their hands are clasped, and Stiles does his best to keep up.

The tunnel twists and winds and when they reach a fork in the path, Derek takes the left without hesitation.

“This way. I can smell fresh air.”

Sure enough, after rounding a few more corners, they reach a crack in the tunnel wall where sunlight pours through that’s just too small for them to fit through. It doesn’t stop Derek. He releases Stiles’ hand and throws his weight at the stone where it’s thinnest and a chunk crumbles away under his desperate strength. He forces his shoulders through and climbs out, pausing long enough to reach out his hand and pull Stiles out after him.

Now, even Stiles can hear the beasts roars and the shouts of a fight, and he follows Derek’s path as he picks his way down the rocky outcrop they’ve emerged from. He's left behind as Derek puts on a burst of werewolf speed once he reaches the bottom, heading towards the open plain where the manticore is hovering above their friends. As Stiles watches it dives, and his stomach swoops with it, breathing a sigh of relief as Kira dodges its attack and uses a zap of electricity to deter a second sweep with its paw.

Stiles races after Derek, the manticore taking to the air again just as he manages to make it to the fray. No one seems to be seriously injured so far beyond an occasional splatter of blood that could even belong to the manticore, but each and every one of them has sweat beading on their foreheads. He hopes they all come out on the other side of this just as unscathed.

He draws his sword as the beast dives again, this time towards Scott, the person nearest to Stiles. He’s ready to dart forward and attack as it swoops past, but the manticore changes direction at the last moment and comes straight for him instead.

He changes the angle of his sword but he’s no match for its speed and has no choice but to stand his ground. Something barrels towards him and knocks him out of its path - Derek - and the werewolf roars as the manticore’s claws rake across his torso.

“Derek!” Stiles rolls to his feet in time for the second paw to swing and dives for the manticore with all his weight behind his sword. He slices straight through the paw, flesh sizzling under his glowing blade. It lands with a _whump_ next to Derek’s head and the manticore roars even louder than when it had lost its tail and hops back into the air.

It’s probably ready to flee again, probably for good this time, but Stiles catches sight of Allison on one knee, her bow drawn and eyes unblinking as she takes careful aim. From the corner of his eye, he sees Erica running to Boyd who’s crouched on the ground, but he keeps his gaze fixed on Allison and lifts his hand. She releases her arrow just as Erica’s foot lands on Boyd’s back and he propels her into the air. Stiles lights the arrow on fire and it’s a direct hit into the beast’s eye socket. He clenches his hand into a fist, exploding the arrow head inside its skull just as Erica’s fist punches through the manticore’s throat, turning its howl of agony to a gurgle. It plummets to the ground, unmoving, and Erica narrowly misses landing beneath its bulk what with her arm lodged in its neck.

Stiles ignores the squelching as she pulls herself free and drops to Derek’s side, leaning over him to cradle his head.

“Derek,” he pants, hovering a useless hand over his injuries.

“I’ll be fine,” Derek breathes through gritted fangs.

Stiles knows he isn’t lying. He can tell from a glance that, though it would be serious for a human to have these injuries, Derek will have no trouble healing from them. The bleeding has already stopped and soon the wounds will begin to close. Stiles wants to hit him for putting himself in harm’s way, but instead he dives down to kiss his stupid face.

He remembers Derek’s stubble and the way they fit together so well that it’s hard for him to believe it’s been a year since they’ve done this. When he pulls back, Derek tries to follow his lips, but he whimpers and drops back, wincing.

Over by the manticore, he can hear Erica and Allison arguing over who killed it first. Lydia and Scott soon join in while Braeden tries to step into the middle.

Cora comes over to Derek to kick him in the leg, punishment for getting himself injured, and he lashes out with his foot in retaliation but she dodges easily.

Stiles looks at Laura and he wants to poke his tongue out when he sees her eyes are sparkling smugly.

 

*

 

_“Am I going to have to write to mother?” Laura threatens._

_Derek just buries his face deeper into his pillow, chasing the phantom scent of Stiles. Two months after the wedding, Laura had ordered his entire room refurbished in the hope it would speed along the recovery from his broken heart. It’s only made Derek wallow all the harder._

_All traces of Stiles’ scent have been erased and Derek has felt like his sense of smell has been muted ever since._

_He hates it. Okay, Stiles had smelled good, but that doesn’t mean he was going to be the one. He obviously isn’t as compatible as Derek had thought if he’s the type of human who could leave him without a word even while knowing werewolves aren’t the type to act so casually._

_Laura stalks from the room, apparently to make good on her threat, but Derek still doesn’t move to stop her. He doesn’t care about anything right now._

 

*

 

The inn is abuzz with the roar of chatter and clunk of tankards hitting tables despite the late hour, and though the exertion of the day is catching up to him, Stiles is too anxious to retire for the night.

Once the manticore’s body had been destroyed, they’d been on their way as soon as Derek was ready to move. Scott had offered him his horse to allow him to fully recover in the saddle, and they’d headed for the nearest town of Grunhaven to spend the night in an actual bed. The sun had long since set by the time they made it to The Wizard’s Breath Inn but thankfully, the innkeeper had been only too happy to provide knights of the realm with a very late supper.

Erica looks mutinous when Braeden and Laura use their funds to buy a round of drinks each. Allison just shrugs at her like it isn’t a big deal, and that just starts an argument all over again. Stiles joins in this time, detailing how he’d exploded the arrow and turned the manticore’s brain to mush, but when he sits back from his colourful re-enactment, he realises Derek has disappeared from the table.

Over an hour passes without him returning and Stiles has started to get antsy. It will soon be time for him to turn in but there’s still so much they need to talk about.

He’s glancing about the room over his shoulder once more when Laura gets his attention.

“Stiles. Derek wants to see you outside.”

He gulps down the final drop of his ale and climbs to his feet. He thinks he knows what’s coming, all but confirmed when the rest of their party follow him to the door.

Outside, Derek stands in the centre of the torchlit square, a stag hefted onto his shoulder. He reverently lays it at his feet and straightens, looking at Stiles with eyes filled with hope and a little bit of fear.

He needn’t have been worried. Stiles is already beaming.

 

*

 

_A beast hunt is exactly what Derek needs right now, and one as deadly as a manticore, killing indiscriminately and wreaking havoc, fits the bill perfectly._

_They’re heading towards the Pebbleknife, the likeliest location of its lair judging by all the reports, when Derek is suddenly veering off course before he even realises what he’s doing. Laura’s shouts are meaningless in his ears as he follows his nose, his heart starting to pound at the scent a part of him is sure he must be hallucinating._

_Could he really be here?_

_He only has a vague awareness of the footfalls of his comrades behind him as he runs. He clears the open plain and is enveloped by the tree line, picking out the sound of hooves just ahead that eventually falter, of a voice detailing their approach, and then the trees thin to reveal a party of knights on the path. And there, sitting astride his horse and looking just the same as when Derek had first laid eyes on him, is Stiles._

_Derek takes a deep breath and citrus sweeps through him, releasing the tension coiled in every one of his muscles. After a year of desperate whines and restless pacing, the wolf inside him finally settles._

**Author's Note:**

> As always, you can find me on tumblr [here](https://kaitsrex.tumblr.com)


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